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Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

Chp-67 New
Chp-67

Kaela Grant
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia, Imperial Island


Kaela's office used to be quite spartan.

The walls were often bereft of any decoration, there was no rug, and the only other seating aside from the desk were two chairs set off to the side.

Recently, that had started to change.

A shelf had been placed to the side of the room, and on it large sculptures.

They weren't very good. A rough approximation of a TIE fighter. A Stormtroopers helmet. A stick that looked vaguely like an E-11 if you squinted.

On her desk sat the smaller projects. Cups, knives, rough humanoid figures. They littered her desk, a basket full of shavings in a corner and a vibro knife sitting on the desk.

One that Kaela desperately wanted to use to gut that miserable WORM-

Internally, she leashed the beast. Thorne wasn't here right now, after all. And even if he was, killing him then impaling his corpse and parading it across the city would have very negative consequences for all involved.

Still, it was hard. After all that FOOL dared invade her territory.

She had understood it at first. The ISB is better suited to rooting out the more insidious parts of the rebellion like the ones that they were dealing with, while her own forces were geared towards security and assualt.

But then, he declared martial law in Augir. Without consulting her. Without consulting the Governor.

Thorne was here as a hunter-killer group. An investigative team. And yet, he has increasingly operated independently of her and the rest of the Mindan Imperial apparatus.

And now he's locked down Augir. Augir! 3rd largest city on the planet, and the second largest refinery in the system!

The beast raged again, and she found herself agreeing with it. She had accepted him onto her territory because he offered skills and expertise she lacked. But he turns around and does THIS!

Her clenched fist slammed into the desk with a boom, the light metal denting under her rage.

For a moment, the cage seemed primed to open.

Her hand grasped the vibro knife so hard the handle creaked, but she focused herself.

In her other hand was a wooden disk. At first, she nearly hacked into it with the knife, yet slowly her cuts became more methodical. More careful. The Imperial Sigil slowly forming on the disk.

As the knife flowed through the wood like butter, it calmed her. The cage stayed firmly closed.

And as it did, her mind calmed with it, now in a better place to truly think.

She couldn't kill him, and lacked the connections and skills needed to arrange an 'accident'. So, how to get rid of him?

She could wait for the Governor to return. He was an economically driven man, and would likely be at odds with Thorne for this.

No, that wouldn't do. Thorne was sent by the Moff, and the Governor would have little recourse there.

And Thorne's decision was logical as well, the same one she might've made, so she couldn't point to it as incompetence.

So how to be rid of him?

That's when it dawned on her.

Thorne wasn't a permanent fixture. He was here for a specific assignment. He was here to root out the rebels. If the rebels were caught, he would leave.

So, all she had to do was find the rebels. The very rebels she admitted she lacked the skills to catch.

What was that word the Governor liked? Ah yes…

"Fuck…"

-

1
Minda System, Ugea, Augir


The hovertruck trundled along down the road, moving through the city's many side streets.

Augir was a blatantly industrial city. While Accordia had towering buildings, skybridges, train tracks crisscrossing entire districts, and markets that spread miles, Augir had industry.

Everywhere.

Pipes ran in every direction. If you looked into the sky, half the ships you spotted were cargo shuttles carrying ore in and out. There were more cargo trains than commuter ones.

The refinery spit out so much dust and gas that, a few years ago, they installed large air purifiers everywhere across the city. Large, smooth towers that looked alien in such a rough city.

Now, the refinery was better, cleaner, but the purifiers stayed there. Made the air some of the freshest on the planet. A harsh contrast to the city's looks.

The hovertruck trundled along, gliding smoothly down the road. Soon, they left the central city. The organic roads of the original city's construction gave way to a more uniform grid.

The buildings looked newer, many being modular habs. A stark contrast to the rough, utilitarian design of the metal buildings in the city center. Many there still had the signs of old air filtration systems and airlocks.

Some people still wore filter masks as a habit.

Here, however, in the newer parts of the city, things were different. There was more color, but the ruggedness endured.

Patches of greenery stood out, at times seeming completely forced into the area.

Of course, 1 never saw any of that.

1, instead, was hidden away in the truck's cargo container. Huddled into the cramped space with 2 and 3, while a nameless, faceless contact drove the truck.

Soon, the truck came to a stop, and 1 heard the sound of talking. They weren't set to stop this early.

A checkpoint.

With Agent Thorne having locked down the city mere hours ago, it had been a possibility that checkpoints would have been set up, but not this quickly. At least, not within the city itself.

Then, a click. The container was being opened.

1's hand inched towards his blaster, flicking it to stun, but otherwise kept still. 2 and 3 did the same.

They were hidden in the farthest reaches of the container, behind walls and walls of things.

A flashlight ripped through the darkness, and for a few tense moments no one moved an inch.

Then, the lights went off, and the door was closed.

Soon enough, the truck was back on the road, heading to the Warehouse district. Named as such for the titular warehouses.

An incredible amount of mass came in and out of the city each day, and there needed to be someplace to store it in the meanwhile.

Eventually, the truck came to a stop, and they exited.

Each of them wore the same outfit. Dark leathers with similarly dark armor plating and tactical vests. Armed with generic blaster rifles found on just about any pirate or smuggler, yet tuned and refined to compete with military grade weaponry.

Their helmets were smooth, simple, and fitted with air filtration hardware.

As generic as it could get. No one would be able to tell them apart from any other secret kill team. Which, of course, was the point. SWEEP couldn't afford to be exposed, certainly not by their dress code.

Before the team was a warehouse, one of many, unassuming in the veritable sea of warehouses that stretched for miles.

1 nodded to the others, before doing a final check on his silencer.

It was functional.

Lining up beside the door, they prepared to breach, communicating solely through handsigns. They only ever spoke when needed, and did so through voice modifiers embedded in their helmets.

Still, despite the lack of comradery, 1 found himself remembering his time as a Commando. Hitting the Seppies where it hurt.

Regardless, he had a job to do.

They scanned the door. No traps, no bombs.

Lifeform scanner went next. 10 people.

1 counted down.

3

2

1

Breach.

The loudest sound they made was when they kicked down the door. As they entered, 1 scanned the area with his eyes, marking every potential target.

The warehouse was filled with more droids, at least 50 that he recognized as B1 and B2 battle droids. Thankfully deactivated.

As the rebels scramble to their feet, many covered in bacta patches and bandages, likely from their recent run in with Thorne's men, 1's team is already firing.

Blaster shots aren't the loudest thing in the world. With silencers? Scarily quiet.

Rings of blue flash across the warehouse, stunning every rebel in sight.

1 nails a few, while 2 covers his flank.

3 starts sweeping the side rooms, the occasional flash of blue signaling their success.

5 minutes after breaching, the warehouse was quiet. A few quick hand signals between the team, and they busy themselves with cuffing the rebels and preparing them for transport.

With the checkpoints still active around the city, they would have to go to a different safehouse and delay extraction. They couldn't risk getting caught, not now. The truck wasn't big enough to hide all the bodies.

And they needed those rebels alive.

Dead men tell no tales, after all.

-

Hi there folks! I wanted to toss this out there. May have noticed I've stopped with chapter titles. As much as they might be fun, 65 chapters is tiring.

Also, I wanted to properly introduce SWEEP! Darna's totally-not-a-secret-police group!

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Kaela's office used to be quite spartan.

The walls were often bereft of any decoration, there was no rug, and the only other seating aside from the desk were two chairs set off to the side.

Recently, that had started to change.

A shelf had been placed to the side of the room, and on it large sculptures.

They weren't very good. A rough approximation of a TIE fighter. A Stormtroopers helmet. A stick that looked vaguely like an E-11 if you squinted.
Everyone is obviously too scared to comment on the change.
The refinery spit out so much dust and gas that, a few years ago, they installed large air purifiers everywhere across the city. Large, smooth towers that looked alien in such a rough city.
Considering some moisture towers on desert worlds can collect water from kilometers away, those purifiers probably have some range to them.
Now, the refinery was better, cleaner, but the purifiers stayed there. Made the air some of the freshest on the planet. A harsh contrast to the city's looks.

The hovertruck trundled along, gliding smoothly down the road. Soon, they left the central city. The organic roads of the original city's construction gave way to a more uniform grid.
Got to love how there is a clear distinct mark of when Las took over. You can see it in the landscape itself.
The buildings looked newer, many being modular habs. A stark contrast to the rough, utilitarian design of the metal buildings in the city center. Many there still had the signs of old air filtration systems and airlocks.

Some people still wore filter masks as a habit.
From necessity to fashion and decor statements.
Each of them wore the same outfit. Dark leathers with similarly dark armor plating and tactical vests. Armed with generic blaster rifles found on just about any pirate or smuggler, yet tuned and refined to compete with military grade weaponry.

Their helmets were smooth, simple, and fitted with air filtration hardware.

As generic as it could get. No one would be able to tell them apart from any other secret kill team. Which, of course, was the point. SWEEP couldn't afford to be exposed, certainly not by their dress code.
The fact these people look similar to high ranking Guild mercenaries probably adds to the obfuscation. Anyone could be the client at that point.
Still, despite the lack of comradery, 1 found himself remembering his time as a Commando. Hitting the Seppies where it hurt.
I mean, if you have the population of special forces on hand, why not make use of them?
The loudest sound they made was when they kicked down the door. As they entered, 1 scanned the area with his eyes, marking every potential target.

The warehouse was filled with more droids, at least 50 that he recognized as B1 and B2 battle droids. Thankfully deactivated.
Well that's enough droids to take over a small town of maybe a couple thousand. Especially combined with the numbers they had before. Shame the Hand decided to attack such large settlements, or they might have succeeded.

Even without the terrorism and rebellion charges, illegally amassing this much unlisted firepower is going to put away these Rebels for life.
 
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Good, good!

It was only a matter of time before the rebels fucked up and got blasted. Rebels like his tend to make big mistakes (like attacking civilian administration in an attempted decapitation strike) that then lands them in a pot of boiling water.
 
As the rebels scramble to their feet, many covered in bacta patches and bandages, likely from their recent run in with Thorne's men, 1's team is already firing.
The fact Thorne sole positive contribution to this is by softening up the rebels like a jar of pickles for the actual Intelligence to hunt them down tickles my funny bone something fierce.

... He might not find it funny tou.
 
Chapter 67
Ah to be honest. I generally like titled chapters. That more to do with qq thread unlike say scarblehudd and royalroadl which give you a next chapter fuction and you dont have to hunt for your last chapter.
Qq if you close your tab. You have to recall the last chapter you read to pick it back up.
 
Chapter 67
Ah to be honest. I generally like titled chapters. That more to do with qq thread unlike say scarblehudd and royalroadl which give you a next chapter fuction and you dont have to hunt for your last chapter.
Qq if you close your tab. You have to recall the last chapter you read to pick it back up.
At least on your first time through, the threadmarks tab will mark what you have and haven't read.
 
Ok I can see the logic behind empire. It's obvious they're trying to constantly excuse the current empire. So if there's no rebels among the population they create them By purposely oppressing them. They don't even realize this.

Big-G Plap`s; yes, some within the ISB: also yes but a minority at most, Governors such as the Moffs; probably not but never zero.

The starwars universe seems to have quite a "Black and White Mindset" going, with fairly few people willing to see past their own ideas and change. (Makes just as many hero`s as it does corrupt targets for them to de-throne.) Great for story telling, very confusing when applying our current mindset to their decisions and philosophy in life.
 
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Omake: Credit Woes on Minda-2

POV: (Petty) Adit Lord Oltal of the Tibalt Dictate, Minda-2, Post Imperial Annexation

"So our mines are worthless?"

Oltal frowned at the report he recieved. He was glad he held this meeting in his private chambers rather than his court. It allowed him to express his personal feelings to his advisors without worrying about his public image.

"Not technically worthless, my Adit Lord. Our vast output of iron and copper are still useful for planetside production. However, due to the presence of these "mining worlds" in the Galactic Empire, we will not find anything in the way of off world buyers. Even the sales predictions for liquidating our gold reserves are significantly lower than expected."

The arrival of the Galactic Empire had upended their world's political and economic system. Dropping in like an apex predator that reshaped the landscape so ferociously that none of the Vendari nations could resist.

"Begin the process of ordering half of our least productive mines to shut down."

"M-my Lord? Half? Is that not a bit extreme?"

The mines of the Tibalt Dictate had always been the pride of their nation. From their height when their clans brought the surrounding valley peoples under their command. To their deepest lows when they had to retreat into the tunnels to survive invasion, migration, or infestation. Before the Annexation, all sought the Dicate's bounty to fuel their forges.

"We have the stockpiles to weather a temporary slow down of production. Once our world links up to the system wide trade network, mineral prices are likely to tumble like an avalanche. The Empire reportedly has mining operations that make our ancestors' efforts look like children digging around in loose gravel."

Cutting off his advisor's protest with a raised hand, Oltal continued.

"Worry not, we will not be abandoning our people's ways. The personnel and machinery will be kept in reserve and rededicated to public projects to keep their picks sharp. Once the Empire finishes surveying with their sky ships, we will begin prospecting old and new tunnels in search for the minerals they desire. Mining is our way of life and it will preserve us into the future."

Even in relative private, Oltal still had to play the part of Adit Lord. He could not allow any rumors that he was unpatriotic to spring forth. If he could not play the guardian protecting his herd from predation, he'd play the grand spelunker unearthing treasures of the world's envy.

"Still, we will have to look towards other methods of obtaining Credits for the Empire's marvels. They will prove vital if our nation is to survive these turbulent times."

The Empire had brought all manner of technological wonders that bordered on the magical. Some of which were given freely to the Vendari to "uplift them". However in the ecosystem of nations it is not about what one has, but how much one has compared to others. Especially when what the Empire gave away was primarily civilian technology.

"The outpost the Empire set up near our lands has allowed us to acquire a trickle of Credits. Their soldiers frequent our restaurants and taverns looking for refreshment and "novelty". We have been able to acquire a couple hundred Credits a week from these visits.

Our citizens at these establishments have offered a majority of their Credits to our government in exchange for our currency and future considerations. As per your requests to our people."

A few hundred Credits a week? Even the cheapest armored vehicle the Empire offered was tens of thousands of Credits! How was Oltal supposed to defend his nation when they could only afford a single of the Empire's handheld Javelins of Light a week?

"Praise our citizens for their contributions to the Dictate's security and prosperity. However, make sure to moderate the praise to avoid drawing the ire of the Mineral Barons. We cannot afford a mine strike at this crucial time."

Unless a new source of income was found, Oltal would have to curb his plans to expand his defenses. Protecting his mountains from a sky ship attack was always a long term goal. However, Oltal would at least like his personal guard to be better armed than a random offworlder or a criminal with swift hands.

"At least our neighbors are likely suffering from similar issues. I hear the Arboretum Demesne has been struggling to get their crops to pass the Empire's inspections to export their produce."

That was not much of a surprise. The Demesne had made the ill-advised decision to try and poison the Imperial Governor during their surrender. It only took a single night for the perpetrators to be caught and punished.

Eldala. She and her family had been the Gleaners of the Agri in the Demesne for generations. A bitter rival and peer that had needled the Dictate and Oltal for decades, wiped from the board in a single evening.

Now it is in Oltal's hands to ensure the same ruin and decline does not befall his nation. Amassing Credits is the first step. Now was not the time of Shouts and Spears, but one of Feasts and Whispers. Consolidation among the Vendari is inevitable in the face of having to deal with the titanic players in the wider galaxy. By his title of Adit Lord, it will be the Dictate doing the dictating!

——
A look into how one of those Vendari micro-nations might be handling galactic integration after Las just Base Delta Zeroed all their previous known forms of economic and defensive planning. Turns out it is really hard for small micronation to earn Credits on a national scale. It was strange to realize that most (legal) products from a low-tech planetary industry do not fetch much on the Galactic Market.

General mining for things like iron and copper is pointless for exporting due to mining worlds upending mountains and flooding the market with cheap ore. Even high purity gold is only sold at 10 to 15 credits a gram or about 10 million credits for a literal ton of gold on the low end. That's a lot for a single citizen or a town, but comparatively a lot less for an entire planetary civilization taking the drastic step of emptying their reserve of precious metals.

Crossposted on SB and SV
 
General mining for things like iron and copper is pointless for exporting due to mining worlds upending mountains and flooding the market with cheap ore. Even high purity gold is only sold at 10 to 15 credits a gram or about 10 million credits for a literal ton of gold on the low end. That's a lot for a single citizen or a town, but comparatively a lot less for an entire planetary civilization taking the drastic step of emptying their reserve of precious metals.

That is a big problem with trying to break into such a large market. Not a lot of angles to corner, especially in one as vast as the Galactic Empire`s own back yard.

Perhaps they need to look into making fine luxury items; Durable cooking knives, Gold dinner ware, a few custom tables..., something out of the ordinary.

Great Omake, like that we see more of primitive contact with early cultures. Always fun to see how stone bound societies deal with the advancements that older civilizations bring then they park themselves at your door. (Kinda want to see how all those former Sith Empire sentients have adapted in the last thousand years.)
 
Chp-68 New
Chp-68

When I first met Thorne, I knew he would be a problem.

He's an ISB agent after all. They're like, cartoonishly evil and incompetent.

And now, my fears have been confirmed!

Martial law! If there is such a thing under the Empire, considering its a fascist dictatorship it's probably always under martial law of some kind.

Still, locking down Augir?

On one hand, it's an understandable reaction. Almost got the rebels, so you lock down the city to keep em from running, in the hopes of catching them.

Makes sense.

The bad part is political.

See, the ISB has the power to do this, no questions asked. And they do tend to step on people's toes when they feel the need to.

Or when they're playing their little political games.

The problem here is that Agent Thorne felt this was needed at all. While his reaction is understandable, it tells people that I can't stop the rebels without the ISB needing to resort to this.

The fact that an ISB agent was sent at all is already kind of odd. This?

It makes me look weak and ineffective, both to the people of Ugea, and to the greater court of Mytoan Imperial Politics.

Not to mention the fact that, as the lockdown continues, people will attribute their anger to me, as the leader of the planet and most public Imperial figure.

Now, this can all be avoided by dealing with the rebels quickly. Quickly enough that the whole thing blows over.

This whole situation is why I'm sitting in my office, calling Commander Grant.

My finger taps my desk incessantly as the terminal rings. 5 taps a second.

It takes 120 taps before the Commander picks up.

"Governor, Sir!"

"The Rebels, Commander. How close are you to catching them? Thorne clearly has yet to succeed, and his latest stunt will cause problems if it continues."

At this, the Commander smiles. The kind of smile that reminds me exactly why I fear this lady so much.

"Well, sir, I did recently come across some actionable intel. Our analysts have put together some disparate data. A few anonymous reports of strange characters alongside observations made by patrolling officers leads us to believe that the rebels are working out of a ship, carrying their agents and battle droids. I was actually about to send a report over."

"Good. Have you tracked them then?" I ask, eager to get this all over with. The sooner the rebels are gone, the sooner I can give more attention to the nearly complete shipyards and the clusterfuck of Imperial politics that I'm stepping into.

Which I really wish I didn't have to do, but things are getting bad enough that I have little choice. It was either suck up to the Moff and deal with the attention the shipyards bring or try and tough it out through the ongoing rawmat shortages.

"Our analysts are close, sir. The number of droids used in the initial assault combined with the estimated number of members based off of previous sabotage attempts indicate that they are either flying a dozen or so light freighters, or they are based off of a larger freighter."

"Regardless, with the extreme checks on in and outbound flights from the planet and their continued operations, chances are they have yet to leave the planet. Therefore we will be able to more thoroughly investigate the spaceports and landing bays and quickly identify the culprits."

It was a good plan. The only problem was the investigation. If it took too long, the situation could deteriorate.

"How long will this investigation take, Commander?"

"Analysts suspect at least a few weeks, maybe over a month. The spaceports have grown a great deal and see a lot of traffic-"

She suddenly stops for a second, her eyes flashing away from the call, before she continues.

"Apologies, Governor. A priority report has come through. It's related to the rebels."

I give a simple nod, and her head turns to the side, eyes scanning the report with record speed.

As they move, they grow wider and wider, alongside that terrifying grin of hers.

By the time she looks back towards the camera, I'm starting to think I should start praying. Or maybe call an exorcist, because there is no way in hell that smile is natural.

"It seems, Governor, that we have found our rebels." Her voice is slower, but not for a lack of energy.

No, more like a predator, conserving her energy for the hunt.

"That fast? The projected time was weeks at least, correct?"

"Yes, Governor. However, a dockworker apparently spotted battle droids that fell from a crate being unloaded in the Vrectin spaceport. Our people are already scouting the area and assessing the claim, but the ship they were being loaded from fits the size profile and arrived only a week and a half before the first attack."

"Good. I expect you will be dealing with these rebels?"

"Of course, Governor. I will be personally involved in the attack to ensure everything goes to plan."

"Understood, Commander. Do your best, and stay out of harm's way when possible." Couldn't have her dying on me because she wanted to get her blood quota filled.

For a second, something odd flashes across her face at that, the bloodthirsty grin faltering for a second, before its back like nothing happened.

"Yes, Governor. I will stay safe. The rebels will die. For the Empire."

"For the Empire."

As soon as the connection cut, I relaxed into my chair and let out a sigh. Speaking with the Commander was always a practice in caution, like walking a knife's edge. She followed orders, but was clearly bloodthirsty, so I have to balance that out.

At the very least, I know that she's not a total monster. Her breakdown some months back proves that if nothing else.

What really concerns me is that tip. We just happen to get a tip? Right then? Less than a week after the lockdown started?

It was quick. Too quick. True, it could've been pure luck. The Force pulling a prank. But I didn't trust it.

I also didn't put too much thinking power into it as I got notice of the final tug teams entering the system carrying the final pieces of the shipyards.

Within a week they would be set up and functioning. Which meant all the yard's affairs had to be in order sooner rather than later.

Checking over all the other documentation was a pain, but the organization software made it far easier.

The yards themselves were made up of twenty 2000 meter berths, and a central ring that connected them all together.

It was quite efficient in its design, and I admired that. The ring allowed for circular internal trains to transport cargo and personnel around the entire station quite quickly, meaning everything flowed faster.

Combined with spacious internal hangars and cargo bays, along with plenty of amenities and a central spire for administrative purposes, the ring was very well suited for the job.

It seemed like a dream to run one of those, and I'd much rather do so than be stuck with my current job.

Regardless, there was more to cover.

The electronics factories were set up in the belt already, with some supplements contracted from Yewcast down in Vrectin.

The electronics we couldn't manufacture on site, alongside other complex components like hyperdrives, engines, reactors, etc… would be shipped to Minda by the trade fleet, which was slowly being expanded to increase the shipping rate. KDY and their manufacturers had oodles of these parts lying around or being made by the second, so one of the bottlenecks was how quick we could get them here.

The other bottleneck, however, was the one that I was very worried about.

Manpower.

The berths alone are 2000 meters long and 1000 wide. There are twenty of them. The central ring has a diameter of over 6000 meters. Not to mention the command spire.

Suffice to say, the structure is fucking massive.

Other shipyards of comparable size utilize crews of upwards of 200,000 people. Veritable fucking cities living in the goddamned things.

Of course, these are multi-shift crews, and not all those people are on the structure at the same time, but its still fucking huge.

Right now, the Minda system's permanent population is getting closer to 600,000. Suffice to say, it would take a shit ton of people.

Now, thankfully, Rothana was built in secret. Therefore, the shipyard is more automated than usual.

Calculations put a full, multi-shift crew at around 125,000 people. More manageable, but still a huge amount.

Of the original crew, we hired around 20,000 to come aboard. Any more, and we might've faced a housing crisis. We just couldn't build fast enough to deal with an influx like that.

Not to mention those workers would be teaching the new workers, which will delay the yards by even more.

It was a bottleneck we have been struggling with for a while. Just about every night I pull the hair out of my head wondering how to deal with this.

I really don't want to, but I might have to go to the Moff and see if his connections can acquire the labor needed.

It was then that I had an idea. The Guild. It allows for a more interconnected economy.

What if I floated the need for workers?

Systems with smaller economies struggling to get off the ground might take up the offer, as the workers would be ferried around. Work in Minda for 3 months, get paid, go back home and spend that money, bringing a cash flow into local economies.

For the first time all night, I felt a surge of relief. An idea that might actually work!

Now, all I needed to do was to get a draft done.

-

Hi there folks! This chapter would've been longer, but I'm tired so no.

As you can see, things are going down.

The shipyards are nearly complete, but some complications arise in the logistical system. It can't all go perfectly, after all.

As always, feedback/commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
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"Our analysts are close, sir. The number of droids used in the initial assault combined with the estimated number of members based off of previous sabotage attempts indicate that they are either flying a dozen or so light freighters, or they are based off of a larger freighter."
Probably the larger freighter. A small trade fleet of a dozen light freighters would probably be noticeable in a relatively small system like Minda.
By the time she looks back towards the camera, I'm starting to think I should start praying. Or maybe call an exorcist, because there is no way in hell that smile is natural.
With the amount of super soldier programs and gene editing in Star Wars past and present, it doesn't have to be.
What really concerns me is that tip. We just happen to get a tip? Right then? Less than a week after the lockdown started?

It was quick. Too quick. True, it could've been pure luck. The Force pulling a prank. But I didn't trust it.
Las still doesn't know about Web or SWEEP does he? There is a "state" information network and secret police he doesn't even know about and technically answer to him.
The electronics factories were set up in the belt already, with some supplements contracted from Yewcast down in Vrectin.
I am betting Yewcast is frothing at the mouth at getting government and military level electronic manufacturing capabilities.
The electronics we couldn't manufacture on site, alongside other complex components like hyperdrives, engines, reactors, etc… would be shipped to Minda by the trade fleet, which was slowly being expanded to increase the shipping rate. KDY and their manufacturers had oodles of these parts lying around or being made by the second, so one of the bottlenecks was how quick we could get them here.
Yeah I am guess the highly complex ship parts take a supply chain that requires your planet to be more than half a million people. Just to cover all the adjacent and lower industries. At least Tibanna gas won't be an issue with Dubrillion mining the stuff in their system.
Calculations put a full, multi-shift crew at around 125,000 people. More manageable, but still a huge amount.

Of the original crew, we hired around 20,000 to come aboard. Any more, and we might've faced a housing crisis. We just couldn't build fast enough to deal with an influx like that.
So about a sixth of the needed manpower is already secured and knows the ins and outs of this station specifically. Not bad for a start.
It was then that I had an idea. The Guild. It allows for a more interconnected economy.

What if I floated the need for workers?

Systems with smaller economies struggling to get off the ground might take up the offer, as the workers would be ferried around. Work in Minda for 3 months, get paid, go back home and spend that money, bringing a cash flow into local economies.
It would also spread ship building and maintenance knowledge around the sector. Providing ways for those smaller economies to earn credits by setting up their own starports and maintenance facilities.

Of course the more subtle Rebels are definitely going to be infiltrating the Shipyard, but they definitely should be smart enough to keep their heads down and not do anything too crazy. Heck they may just use the shipyard as a training pipeline for their technicians.

Minda-2 would definitely appreciate getting in on the action. They might be able to repair a hyperdrive, but they can follow basic instructions and handle shipping. Even those low wages would help kickstart Minda-2's economy.
 
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Is there a reason they couldn't staff just a few of the arms with the people they have and bring more online as they get more workers?
 

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